


Butterfly Bones

by elenoremalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Draco Malfoy, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Slytherin Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27371617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenoremalfoy/pseuds/elenoremalfoy
Summary: ONESHOT: a darkly curious draco & a delicate reader.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Butterfly Bones

he is trembling when he finally gets to touch her.

his fingers, pale as winter from building nerves, are sliding up her shoulder. to drag across her neck, under the thin fabric of her top, and down the sides of her waist. 

he has grown unfathomably intoxicated by the softness of her skin. fragile. she is fragile in his hands, sighs and pleas fluttering from her rosed lips. they fill the room with echoes that make him shiver.

watching her reminds him of studying a winged creature, as if he were observing her through a looking glass. he can’t stop himself from thinking about how easy it would be to pin her to the sheets, stick needles through the joints of her limbs, hold her down and—

draco.  
when he meets her eyes again, he blames the celestial promises behind them for making him break. 

he had meant to take his time, had wanted to jot careful notes about every detail of her undressed body that he was not yet familiar with. 

draco.  
her name leaves his mouth in a rush of air, a whisper to the old gods. it occurs to him distantly that eventually she, too, will be written into the book of saints, among all other cruel, faultless divinities.

now, he’s pulling her closer. 

she is startled, a martyr in a web, he knows, but there’s something in her he needs, something she has that he craves.

dra-   
he was not born a saint, he was born to devour. to carve and mangle and take, not to savor. 

for a while they are lips, tongues, teeth, and nothing more. her prayers sound like his name and taste unnaturally sweet when he steals them from the back of her throat. 

but, what threatens to crack the ground beneath him, is how desperately she seems to need him.

he tells her as much, too. 

although, it is not until his mouth nears her chest that he is reminded of how delicate she is. 

here, in the space between, is where she begins to twitch.

his hands have found new places to warm. the underside of her breast, for example, where it is hard to compare her heart’s th-thump, th-thump, th-thumping to anything other than the frantic flapping of wings. 

all the while, his other hand has nearly reached the place he’s wondered most about. 

“dra-draco,” she says again, and he understands the reason behind the stutters; scripture has rendered itself unworthy to them both.

and so he lays her down before him, the surrendering of grace all together. 

she fits herself into his hand like a glass, and he is curious to know if that is what she is made of. 

he wants to know if the skin he’s spent so much time warming is home to a crystalline skeleton. he needs to know.

without any more hesitation, they are tangled again in a feverish and endless consuming of one another. a rapture of bitter-sweet curses and butterfly bones—they disappear into each other.


End file.
